In the Highlander's Bed (16 page)

“People are hurt by the cruelty of others. And that is all the more reason to fight,” Constance answered.

She approached Fiona, stopping just short of taking the other woman by the shoulders and giving her a shake. “Gordon isn’t fighting for his own vanity. He wants justice for the wrongs done your clansmen. If that’s not worth fighting for, I don’t know what is.”

“You don’t understand becauseyou can leave at any time,” Fiona said.

“Ido understand,” Constance said. “And I’m attempting to make you realize that you don’t need to be ashamed—”

The leather flap on the tent was lifted.

Both Constance and Fiona expected to see Gordon enter. Instead, a slim woman with curling black hair and vivid blue eyes stuck her head in. Tad growled a warning. The woman looked at Fiona. “Call off the dog.” Her Scot accent was as refined as Fiona’s.

“No one asked you here, Grace,” Fiona responded with even more coldness than she’d shown Constance.

Grace ignored her. “Are the two of you going to come to blows?” she asked in her soft lilting voice.

“Because if you are, the other women and I gathered outside would like to see the fight. There’s little entertainment in this camp.”

Annoyed at the interruption, Constance asked, “Who are you?” And what right did she have to put her nose in other people’s business?

“Grace McEachin, the camp whore,” Fiona answered. “She believes she can do and say as she pleases because she has Thomas eating out of her hand. But not around me.” She didn’t wait for a response.

“Come, Tad,” she said, and with her shawl still pulled tightly around her shoulders, pushed past Grace, then stopped at the door. “You can come or go, whatever you please, Miss Constance Cameron. I tried to help. You have yourself to blame for your foolishness.”

When Fiona left the tent, Tad followed right at her heels.

Grace released a long sigh. “Every time she adopts that manner, I feel like I’ve just left an audience with the queen.”

“Perhaps she has good reason for being the way she is?” Constance suggested, wanting Grace to be charitable.

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The whore would have none of it. “A woman must learn to toughen up to survive. You understand that, don’t you? My impression is that you are a survivor.”

“I’m not dishonest with myself,” Constance replied, “if that is what you are asking.”

Grace cocked her head as if reevaluating her. “So, are you going to leave?”

“How much did you hear?” Constance asked.

“Enough to know” was the cryptic answer.

“No, I’m not leaving,” Constance said, and was pleased to wipe the smug assurance off the other woman’s face.

“Why not?” Grace asked.

Constance bent down to pick up the bundle of food. She had to eat to maintain her strength for what lay ahead. “Because I’ve decided to join your fight,” she said, untying the bundle. There was bread and a hardened piece of cheese in it. She took a bite of the bread.

“Join us?” Grace repeated, no less surprised than Fiona had been.

“Yes. Let’s go out and meet the others.” She started toward the door, but Grace didn’t budge.

“Why would you want to join us?” Grace’s gaze grew speculative. “It’s the Lachlan, isn’t it? He’s caught your eye.”

For the briefest second, Constance wanted to deny it…then changed her mind. “Aye, itis the Lachlan. A more noble man I have never met. And a more disreputable group of followers I have never seen.” She crossed to stand toe-to-toe with Grace. “Do you think because you are a willing woman, it gives you airs over the likes of Fiona?”

Grace pulled back. Apparently no one had ever challenged her before.

“It doesn’t,” Constance said, answering herself. “You are just as afraid as she is. All of you are. You don’t believe in this fight. Not truly. And so you’re biding your time, not putting a great deal of effort into the Cause or the men who will fight it. Well, I’m not so namby-pamby.” She moved toward the tent flap.

“What does that mean?” Grace demanded.

Constance paused. “Lacking in character. Being afraid because fear is comfortable. Are the others outside? Are they listening?” She didn’t wait for a response but flipped open the flap.

Sure enough, it appeared as if every woman in the camp was gathered around Gordon’s tent, unabashedly eavesdropping. Constance came to face them.

They actually took a step back. Some of them held babies in their arms. Others had small children clinging to their skirts. They returned her stare with undisguised hostility.

Well, that was fine with her. The only onesnot paying attention seemed to be Mad Maggie, who stood off the side rocking her “Patty,” and Fiona, who was nowhere to be seen.

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Grace came out of the tent behind her. Constance didn’t wait for an introduction, but decided to charge right in with her opinions. Charlotte would be proud. No one had ever accused a Cameron of being shy.

“You heard what was said in there?” she asked.

No one said yea or nay. They didn’t need to. Constance understood frontier politics among women.

They always knew more than they gave away, and no one wanted to be the first to speak out, although she was certain they all had opinions.

“You know I’ve decided to join your cause.” The words filled her with pride.

In response, not one of the women batted so much as an eyelash. No congratulations. No welcome to the clan. Instead, they stood in grim, condemning silence.

She realized that this might be more difficult than she had imagined. The Scots could be stubborn. But she refused to be deterred.

“You heard me accuse Grace of not being supportive of your cause. Well, I believe that of all of you.”

Nowshe received a reaction. A collective gasp of outrage rose from the crowd at her audacity.

“So youdo have some pride,” Constance plunged on. “Well, you couldn’t tell as much if you looked around this camp.” She boldly strolled forward, and they backed away to clear a path. “See with your own eyes what is happening. Livestock roaming freely, children with dirty faces, no order, no cleanliness.

Everyone is involved in their own little lives without anyone working together. Except for making soap,”

she remembered with a snap of her fingers. “And I believe that is shared because whoever made it created such a sticky mess, she didn’t want it around her home.”

Chins shot up, eyes glittered with outrage. “You don’t know one thing about us,” a woman with squiggly orange hair said.

“Or about what we’ve lost,” an older woman agreed—and Constance realized that in her boldness, she’d surrounded herself with angry Scotswomen.

For a second she had the very reasonable urge to run. The circle of women looked no less menacing than a Shawnee war party.

Except they weren’t, she reminded herself. She had nothing to fear. They needed her, and so she raised her voice, daring to say, “Perhaps I don’t know what you’ve lost, but I know what youare going to lose.

Your husband’s lives, your children’s birthright, your pride as a nation.”

“We’ve already lost that,” Grace answered.

Constance turned to her. “No, you haven’t. Not as long as you have fight left in you.” She noticed that several heads nodded at her words. Emboldened, she continued, “If it wasn’t for women, there would be no civilization. Men know nothing about the home and the hearth. We are the ones who care, who force them to make laws and build homes. We are the ones who know how to make soap, and makethem use it.”

It wasn’t the best rallying cry, but it hit its mark.

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“That’s right,” she heard several murmur to each other.

Then a woman from the back of the crowd said, “Malcolm McDowell and his family left last night.”

Apparently, this news was distressing to most of the women. Frowns formed and lines of concern marred foreheads.

Constance turned to Grace. “What is this? Why are these people important?”

“Lucy McDowell was a good friend to many of them. Her husband was a strong supporter of Gordon’s cause.”

“Gordon’scause?” Constance repeated, indignation rising. “I thought it was the Cause of everyone here?” Now Constance understood why Gordon wanted the sword. He was battling for the very life of his rebellion. And if it failed,he would be the one to pay the price.

Constance’s blood boiled. Why, Gordon couldn’t even count upon the support of his sister, his own flesh and blood.

Well, he had one ally.Herself.

“So what did these people do?” Constance demanded. “Sneak away in the middle of the night? Do they run like cowards? Because if they do, it is a shame. And where did they go?”

“Probably to London or wherever they can find work,” the orange-headed woman said.

This information horrified Constance. “London? Where their children can starve on the streets? Have you been there?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I have, and a dirtier, nastier city you could never hope to see. The streets are teeming with people looking for work, including women and children who would do anything for a slice of bread. And the air—” She shuddered. “One can barely breathe. There are parks, but they aren’t for you. They are for people with money and privilege. You are better living here, where your children have clear complexions and clearer eyes. Why, I once saw a child no more than a babe sucking on a gin bottle.”

That description widened more than a few eyes. Mothers gathered their children closer.

“We are at a moment in history when legends are made,” Constance declared in a ringing voice. She noticed Fiona had come to stand a bit away from the group.Good. She needed to hear this. “If you give up now, what is left to you?” she asked them. “Nothing. Not even your self-respect. You are here for a reason. Your men can’t fight without you. I come from a country where a woman knows how to load a gun. If there are Indians at the door, we all fight. And that is what you have here—Indians at the door.

You can either throw your apron over your head and hide, or stand alongside your men and fight.”

She let her words soak in, hoping she was persuasive enough. Taking the leadership role was new to her. Always before, she’d answered to her sisters. Few people had ever listened to her.

The women looked at each other. There was a whisper here and there. Constance feared she hadn’t swayed them.

And then Grace asked, “What would we need to do?”

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“We start by cleaning,” Constance said. “And I’d recommend a common cooking fire. A few women could cook for all, leaving the rest of us free to see to other matters.”

Grace’s brow furrowed with concern, and then she said, “I like the idea of a common cooking fire. I’ll organize it. What else needs to be done?”

“The latrine area needs fresh dirt. It’s not nice work, but necessary.”

Silence met this task.

Heaving a weary sigh, Constance said, “I’ll see to it. At home, as the youngest, my sisters always expected me to do it anyway.”

Grace turned to the orange-haired woman. “What about you, Sarah Kimball? Are you with us? And how can you help?”

“I will help with the fires. I’ll send my sons out to gather kindling for the whole camp. I’m not so interested in the latrines.”

Her words were met with a smattering of laughter.

Grace sighed. “Then I shall help with the latrines.” She looked to a pale blond woman with a baby in her arms. “Linnea, will you cook? You are the best cook in the clan.”

Linnea shifted her baby in her arms before admitting, “Cook what? My family has no meat and very little but oats and barley.”

“Why did you not say something?” the woman closest to Linnea asked.

Linnea didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. They all understood pride.

“Everyone will bring what they have to you,” Constance said. “We will all share, and you will cook for the clan.” Her words were quickly seconded with offers of food and other aid from everyone.

The tension eased from Linnea’s shoulders. “Very well, yes, I will cook.”

“I have meat,” Grace said, mentioning an item that few of the others had claimed.

The clanswomen turned tight-lipped. No one spoke. Constance realized it was up to her to answer.

“Thank you—” she began.

“I don’t know that we should include her,” Sarah challenged.

Emma Reivers, the wife of the couple Gordon had put in charge of Constance the day before, stood beside her, nodding agreement. Others shifted uncomfortably.

“She’s a tart, plain and simple,” Sarah said. “Good folks don’t associate with her. She gives our daughters bad ideas of how a woman should act. There are many of us who question the Lachlan’s judgment in allowing Thomas to keep her.”

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Constance understood what Sarah was saying. Whenever there were men and women together, this was always an issue. The clanswomen were content to let Grace do what they didn’t have the courage to do—such as confront Fiona—but that didn’t mean they wanted to break bread with her.

Grace lifted her head in defiance, but a bright spot of color rose on each cheek.

Constance stepped between them. “You don’t have time to pick at each other. You are in a dangerous situation. Why else would Gordon want the Sword of the MacKenna? However, Grace is one of you.

And I will say, I know how hard it is to survive as a woman alone. I don’t know that I would turn to a man for protection, but I won’t hold it against any woman who is forced to place herself in those circumstances.We ”—she used the word deliberately—“can’t afford outcasts. We are all we have, until we convince others to join our cause.”

Dead quiet met her announcement.